


She was pretending all along.

by rearwindow



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Memories, Pre-Game(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rearwindow/pseuds/rearwindow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to survive, you need to give up on something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, weary travelers. I'm sorry your journey took you here.  
> This is my first time ever, basically, so bare with me. And be merciful.

The world as it once was before.  
There was a _before_. The utter fact she could divide her life so distinctly baffled her. A deep cut in the thin fabric that held the threads of her life together. Before. Did it still exist? Yes. Yes, she…she remembered. It was weird, it felt like watching a movie in the back row. It wasn’t her body, those weren’t her actions and that could not possibly be her life. Too bright, too carefree, too hopeful. She _could_ remember, but now, what was the point?  
She was sure it was useless, as well as terribly cruel. Pouring salt into an open wound. She could feel tears pushing fiercely and viciously, eager to stream down her cheeks. She knew that if she let them, they would overflow. Splashing her face with the sour taste of salt and defeat. And what she didn’t know was if she would be able to stop. So she sniffed, and rubbed her eyes, swiftly and with faked nonchalance, as if behind the forest of her gaze she wasn’t hiding the Niagara falls. And yet. And yet, all the atrocities she was been through, that awful knot in her chest, whose strings were reaching down her stomach to squeeze it like an old rag, recalled her, as an oxymoron, those days when smiling didn’t seem so inconvenient.  
Her thoughts were scanned by the deafening noise of the blades whipping the air. Glimpses of light. Flashes. Sunrays in the darkness that still burned in her eyes, in her mind, in her heart. Tar dripping down her skin, slow and inexorable, sticky and toxic.  
She flinched, startled. Something brushed against her shoulder. She felt her heart racing and heard it pounding in her ears. Din. But she was safe. She _knew_ she was safe on that goddamned helicopter. However, the horror was too fresh to allow her to keep calm. Sam could not help it but feel at risk, danger followed her like the scent of her favourite perfume. It was always behind her back. Blood was still on her hands, death lingered like an acrid smell and… “ _you can’t tell me what to do!_ ”. Something inside her snapped. Branches scratching her gut.  
She turned quickly, facing Chris’ hand hanging in mid-air. He stared at her through a pair of squared lenses. He was shocked, clearly shaken, profoundly upset. Like the others, after all. But she recognized something in his eyes, something the others lacked and she shared. Sadness. Agony. Guilt. Regret. Dawn didn’t save them.  
Although the girl nodded almost imperceptibly, Chris managed to understand the cue. He gingerly placed his palm overs her shoulder. Then, he clutched it. She welcomed the pressure. It was a reminder: she wasn’t alone.  
Sam eventually gave into crying. Strangled, silent, reserved. Chris noticed her body tremble, though he remained silent. His vision was blurry, too.  
The Washington siblings belonged to the _before_. Their place was among the memories of a past severed from the present, completely unrelated to the future.  
Beth, Hannah… _Josh_. Shadows. Spirits. Ghosts who would haunt her for a long time. Sam asked herself if she had killed them. Surely, she wasn't able to rescue them. And wasn't it the same?  
At the same time, she kept seeing them, when she could have touched them, when she could have joked with Hannah and listen to Josh laugh. It was a cold comfort. Pain, more than comfort. But it was everything she had. Slivers. And no one would've ever been able to take that, _at least that_ , from her.  
Sam spent her life pretending. Pretending she didn’t care, pretending she didn’t wish, pretending she didn’t need. But she cared, she wished, she needed.


	2. That time when he discovered her fondness for comic heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is way longer and way dumber than I thought.

\- How do I look? –  
With one single gesture, Hannah opened the tiny dressing room. Sam could hear the cracking sound of metal against metal and the velvety one of the curtain being pulled. The dark-haired girl adjusted her glasses, placing them steady on the bridge of her button nose. She was chewing her lip, clearly uncomfortable. She couldn’t stop stretching the hem of her dress, too short for her self-esteem and yet too long for her purpose.  
Sam was peering at her, while a woman in his forties sighed at the umpteenth demand of her daughter, obviously suffering from an acute form of perfectionism.  
The store was overcrowded. People whirled uncertain, like moths looking for light. Ferocious troops of fierce mothers, unleashed by their own children, assailed the aisles. It was a bloodshed, and it had already claimed its several victims: babies shrieking their war cry, explosions of clothes, dead bodies slumped down into armchairs and survivors looking for basic supplies, such as water and ice cream. Blood sugar was important.  
Prom was near. And its looming presence on the calendar made the math text completely irrelevant. Who cared about variables and logarithms? Usually, it was hard even to _pretend_ to understand them. Nodding at the right time, smiling at the amusing, interesting obscure signs on the whiteboard and writing down numbers whose real aim seemed to escape from any kind of human rationality required a lot of practice and determination. Imagining to be so prompt when your mind was focusing on how to find a pair of shoes for _that cute little dress with lace on the back, you know, the mustard one, mustard is such a difficult colour to match_ was utopic.  
It was the time when glitters sparkled on every surface available and clouds of tulle covered the walls. Flowers blossomed and allergies kicked in. The air was thick with the smell of jasmines and the one of overly excited teenagers’ hormones. Scented sweat. Not so delightful.  
Sam was actually allergic to pollen, which meant that spring didn’t feel like the idyllic season everyone was so fervently waiting for. She couldn’t see the beauty of the renovated landscapes, because her swollen eyes were filled with tears and she couldn’t smell the inebriating scent of blooming flowers because her nose hurt, itched and was bunged up, resulting in the loss of her taste as well. Which was a shame, since she adored strawberries. Or at least, what strawberries should have tasted like.  
Sam’s lips sketched a smile, while her eyes were glancing at her friend’s slim body. Hannah played tennis. And she could affirm, without any kind of hesitation, that it wasn’t her true calling. She liked it. She won some cups. But if she kept wiggling that racket around, was only because seeing _his precious baby_ , running back and forth the grassy field, made mr. Washington so proud that quitting would have felt like giving a positive pregnancy test to him as a gift for Father’s day.  
Although every Monday and Thursday packing her bag was a struggle, and had a striking resemblance to what a punch in the face must have felt like, because, of course, Hannah was never been into a fight, even patting someone on the shoulder would have felt rude and wrong, all that work bore fruit. Hannah had an athletic figure: nice sculpted calves, broad shoulders and toned legs. She had made a list of her personal tennis icons. Maria Sharapova was on top, even if Steffi Graf and Serena Williams followed closely. Hannah looked a bit like her. Except for the fact that her hair was pitch, her skin copper and her eyes wells leading to a hurt soul. So, it was deeply upsetting for Sam to hear her friend putting together the words “I am” and “a cow” in the same four-words-long sentence. Not to mention that bovines were actually pretty charming and friendly animals and had a very chill and confident attitude.  
Hannah kept staring at her multiplied self in the mirror, turning relentlessly, laying her hands on her hips and on her belly, visibly worried about the natural protuberance that was her tum. She was wearing a black high neck dress, ending four inches above her knees. It exposed the bronze of her back. Sam noticed the boy sitting on the white pouf in front of one of the other dressing rooms. He had shopping bags with fancy names between his legs, a smartphone in his hand and a metaphorical drool pool at his feet. Apparently, Hannah had made an impression.  
\- Han, wow! You look gorgeous! –  
\- No, I don’t – was the agitated reply. Sam rolled her eyes.  
\- Look at you! – the blonde stuck her arm out of the narrow hole showing her head and whipped the air, indicating Hannah’s silhouette from head to toe.  
\- That is the exact reason why I say it. -  
Confidence issues. Again. They had that identical argument on a regular basis, and it generally caused the same effect: a fleeting acceptance and a long lasting remorse.  
Hannah was naive. And oblivious. Always too fragile and pure for a world that continued to feed her self-loathing and anxiety. She was thin glass. Beautiful, but so easily crushed.  
Hannah was a creature of habit. Making plans was the most fun. She took pleasure in it. Everything could be possible. Programs and dreams collided, mixing, deceiving her into thinking that her delusions could be truly feasible. It gave her power and control, a feeling she rarely experienced. And it was intoxicating, as if actually doing stuff could shatter that illusion. Hannah was ordinary, driven by routine and satisfying, little acts. She didn’t mind, until her actions, from cozy and reassuring, became boring and dull. Plain, mediocre Hannah. It was no surprise Mike didn’t like her. Probably, he hardly acknowledged her existence. _Do you mean Josh and Beth’s sister? The girl who plays tennis? Do you know that chick in chemistry class? She’s the daughter of Bob Washington, yeah, the director!_. . She was always someone else, but never Hannah. She was grey. Smoke shaping into complicated arabesques. You couldn’t catch it, not entirely.  
Hannah was also childish. She clutched to her innocence, because sometimes it was better to be ignorant. She realized that the peculiar alignment of stars and planets, tarots and chicken bones didn’t affect her life. Nevertheless, she found it thrilling, she adored the moment of suspense before seeing which answer a majority of c’s got her. Her brain told her to laugh and move on, but her heart wanted to believe. Sometimes, the results were too good to disregard them. And sometimes, they were too bad. Her tattoo, for instance, was the consequence of an alarming outcome. A while back, on a chilly Sunday evening, her phone was dead. Hannah, lying on her bed, had took a quiz about love compatibility, hoping it would finally speak the truth about her chances to be with _hot Mike_ , as Beth would call him, to differentiate him from “ _funny Mike_ ”, a funny, as his nickname suggested, and clever boy in Josh’s English class. He was actually pretty funny.  
The quiz had, in fact, displayed some good arguments. Ostensibly, Hannah was helplessly boring and she needed to _do something reckless, be audacious, girl!_. Hannah wasn’t reckless, Hannah wasn’t audacious. The quiz also recommended her to flee from home, which, presumably, would have made Hannah look cool and grunge, cladding her in mystery. Perhaps, it was too extreme, and anyway she couldn’t even cook her own meals properly, so the idea wasn’t tempting. But a little tattoo? That was awesome and it wouldn’t have hurt anyone. Well, maybe she would have felt a little pain, but it was all for a greater cause, right?  
Sam had read her horoscope on that same magazine. It had said luck was coming her way. Next week, she sprained her ankle while rock climbing, the tickets to her favourite band were sold out in less than an hour and somebody stole her wallet, in which she kept the passport necessary to visit her grandma abroad. So, no. Magazine weren’t reliable. And as a general rule, it was better to make life decision without their advice.  
But Sam knew. Hannah did not want _just a tattoo_ , as she blatantly protested. She wanted to be _seen_. A way out from the shadows casted around her. Hannah was quiet. Introvert, quirky, tired. She had a lot to give, but no one cared enough to take it. From caterpillar, to _butterfly_.  
Hannah groaned, fidgeting with her hands.  
\- Where is Josh? He has my shoes. –  
Oh. Right. Josh. Half naked Sam had almost forgotten Josh was lurking around. She blushed. She wasn’t shocked about the crimson on her cheeks.  
She wouldn’t admit it. But there was the slightest possibility she had a crush on Josh. Her best friend’s brother. Awkward. But was it, really? Hannah’s magazines stated so.  
It wasn’t the lack of options. She had plenty of options. Or so she liked to think. Nathan from the grocery store was cute and always discounted her shopping, which was very useful when she had money to buy just two carrots and a fat-free yogurt. But he wasn’t, well, he wasn’t _Josh_.  
It hadn’t been love at first sight, in any case.  
Actually, her first thought was: _wow, what an annoying little shit._ She still thought that, but with less hatred and more fondness.  
Their first meeting didn’t go well. Code name: _ragù accident_. He still didn’t apologize. She still couldn’t eat Italian food.  
It took Sam some time to get over that tremendous night, but eventually, she gave him another chance. Mostly because she was his sister’s best friend. It was hard not to bump into each other. She knew it would have worked when he complimented her Star Wars t-shirt. They built their friendship over their shared detestation of Jar Jar Binks.  
Sarcastic remarks became insults. And insults became inappropriate sexual humour. A solid relationship no less.  
Though, it wasn’t only about ambiguous allusions and not-so-witty comebacks. Sure, they had fun together, teasing each other. But they could also stay up late talking about death and the insignificance of human existence. She enjoyed sleepovers at the Washington’s mansion. It certainly couldn’t have been labelled as a humble house. It was the kind of residence that had its own tennis court…  
They would spend the night talking, painting their nails and playing silly made up games. She cherished Hannah’s company. But what made those nights special, truly special, was Josh knocking at Hannah’s door. Then, he would enter with an excuse, _I forgot my notebook here_ , ask them what they were up to and nod. And he would stay, until Sam would tell him a joke and he would laugh and sit next to her. They would speak in hushed whispers, while Hannah would be sleeping. They would lose time and space, live in an atemporal limbo. Serene. Without distress. They would be themselves. Because no one was watching. No one was listening. No one was judging. After all, wasn’t it all a cliché?  
There was no point in telling Hannah. Sam could foreshadow her reaction. She would have felt used and useless. Giving credit to her belief of unimportance. Shattered. Sam couldn’t allow that. Besides, she would probably tell Beth, who, probably, would tell Josh, who, probably, would tell her she wasn’t her type. Or never talk to her again, since, you know, she’d destroyed his sister.  
But instead of coming to terms with the truth, she reminded herself how hot it was inside that claustrophobic room. Trying on clothes was rather annoying. And tiring. She wondered how many calories it burned. It made her unbelievably sweaty. Which, actually, wasn’t a very nice thing.  
Hannah stood to her tiptoes, craning her neck.  
She thought having a male insight would be incredibly valuable. Sam thought it was useless. She remembered going out with her cousin. “Cheap and fitting” was his fashion motto. She could agree with that, but it didn’t answer if she should buy the Jimmy Choo pumps or Prada oxfords. Hypothetically. She couldn’t really afford neither of them…  
Josh knew the enemy. He _was_ the enemy. Besides, he was the only one with a driving license and had some spare time to kill, anyway.  
When they last saw him, he was standing still near the accessories exhibitor, blending with the surroundings. He was scared of those stressed out women running around yelling orders. They made him uneasy.  
Anyhow, it was clear he wasn’t feeling uneasy anymore, since he was pleasantly conversing with an unpleasantly attractive employee. He was smirking, grinning, pearls in his mouth. It was almost blinding. Sam hated it. No, she didn’t.  
\- I see him. – Hannah declared. Yes, Sam saw him too. And she didn’t like it. Yes, she did. – Excuse me a moment, I go get him. –  
Sam became particularly aware of her nudity. She rushed in, cursing herself for picking the only faulty fitting room. No matter how much she pulled and jumped, probably causing her shoulder to dislocate, the curtain would never close. She didn’t care about middle aged women accidentally taking a look at her almost naked body. But with Josh, well, she didn’t feel that comfortable.  
A nervous figure was staring back at her, eyes wide. Did she look like that all day? She hoped not. Her appearance wasn’t her main worry, she was concerned about other’s people health. Were they still alive? Did they become blind? Were they gathering around the fire telling stories about this ancestral creature they met? Her hair was a nest made of hay, and she was sure no birds would have found it appealing. Let alone _humans_. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, which wasn’t an issue itself. But she only slept for three hours. After all, it was her right to know whether Winston Smith would succumb to the Big Brother. Indeed, she found out. And cried. A lot. Thus, not only she had some Louis Vuitton’s imitations under her eyes, but she was also emotionally devastated. However, what bothered her the most was her Batman underwear in plain sight. Batman was a badass, while she only had a bad ass. It would have been unpleasant to both parts, if she showed it.  
It was too late to search for her jeans and shirt under that terrifying pile of dresses. It was an impossible task to accomplish in less than a minute. When did they grow into such an enormous amount? Half of them weren’t even flattering… Yellow wasn’t her colour at all. Why did she even choose it? Well, it had black stripes down its sides, making it look like Black Mamba’s costume from Kill Bill. Of course she picked it.  
The only choice she had was to grab the last dress still on the hanger and slip into it as fast as she could. It was maroon, heart neckline, long laced sleeves. It could have been worse.  
Time was running out. She could hear Hannah complaining about the wrong pair of shoes. “ _I gave you one job, Josh. One job._ “  
Maybe it wasn’t so _dramatic_. Josh had seen her in more tragic conditions. Well, probably not. But he smelled her bad breath in the morning, which was already pretty gross, and witnessed her embarrassing dancing and even more awkward singing. They never spoke about that again. Though, as a matter of fact, he’d never seen her underwear and she would have liked for things to stay that way. _For now_.  
She fumbled with the zip. It had to jam. Otherwise, where was the fun?  
\- Hey Sam! – Hannah called – Are you in there? Are you done? –  
\- Yeah, coming! – No, she wasn’t, she almost stumbled out. It would have undoubtedly made a spectacular entrance.  
When she finally managed to wear that stupid dress, her hair still seemed the legacy of a recent electroshock. She tried to make it look less like a nest and more like intentionally messy. She didn’t succeed. Despite the fact that her only saving grace was that, at least, she was dressed, nothing kept her in that asphyxiating fitting room any longer.  
Sam rapidly stepped out.  
Before her, Hannah was testing the stilettos Josh had given her, stomping around and kicking imaginary asses. Sam’s feet were bare and she kept curling her toes in discomfort. Josh’s arms were crossed and he kept anxiously chewing his bottom lip. A girl, face round and gentle eyes, gauchely entered the fitting room next to Sam’s.  
Josh was stealing glances of Sam in ill-concealed awe. She pretended she didn’t notice. Josh pretended he didn’t notice Sam pretending she didn’t notice. Hannah didn’t notice at all.  
\- This dress is raaaad. – Josh nodded his approval, while a smug smile appeared on his face. Sam giggled. She liked his sluggish way to talk.  
\- You think? – she asked, swinging and spinning swiftly.  
\- Absolutely. –  
Josh observed the dress wasn’t entirely zipped. He furrowed his brows, uncertain. Then, he pointed to her chest with his chin.  
\- Do you need any help with that? -  
\- What? – Sam tried to stretch to the zipper, but it was out of her reach. She let her arms drop to her sides. – Er… yeah. I mean, okay. –  
Sam turned.  
It was such a silly and innocent thing! Two friends helping each other. That was all. Frankly, it was just an act of generosity. It would have been over in less than a blink. Then, why was she so nervous? There was absolutely nothing to be nervous about. Just Josh zipping her dress up. Just _that_. Movies depicted it as such a melodramatic action. Slow motion, saxophone in the distance. Sax always set up the mood for romantic scenes. Sax was oversexualized. Sax was just a letter from sex. Maybe that was it.  
Josh clumsily placed his hands on her back. They were cold, snow melting with the fire of her skin. She felt hair rising on the back of her neck, goose bumps on her arms and not butterflies, but vultures pecking mercilessly at her stomach. It was a pleasant kind of ache. She thought it was a little bit excessive. For, you know, no tension at all. She hoped he didn’t notice.  
She was still curling her feet. Josh took his time. Sam wasn’t bothered.  
She liked his slender fingers. He had very nice hands, to be honest. Josh used to gesticulate a lot and Sam loved to watch his hands wander. He always traced slow circles with his right hand and hasty straight lines with the left. It was fascinating. As fascinating was the way he twisted his mouth when he smiled. It leaned to the right, where a dimple formed. It wasn’t intentional, but she often ended up studying him. She knew he had a little mole on his neck, right under his ear. She knew he rubbed his hands against his thighs when he was nervous. She knew when his mouth laughed and his eyes grieved. His eyes would always tell her the truth. Sam found them compelling. Green and golden. Big and sad. They were delicate. And delicate things were the first to break.  
\- Here you go. –  
He patted her on the shoulder. A great way to dissipate the alleged tension.  
Sam laughed. Laughing was always a good choice of words. Josh’s hands fidgeted.  
\- You look be…lievable. – he nodded. As if that was the smartest thing he could possibly say. He seemed sure, while to Sam it made very little sense.  
\- Believable? –  
\- As a prom… goer. – that was lees sure.  
\- Yes, because the unzipped dress made me look like a total stripper. –  
\- I would pay to see it. – sure again  
\- I’d be too expensive. –  
\- I own a mountain. –  
Sam curled her lips. Then sighed. Good point. But, obviously, she couldn’t admit that. She glared at him. He smiled that smile of his.  
Hannah came back from her catwalk, shoes in her hands.  
\- You know, Josh, I’m sorry I questioned your fashion taste. –  
Josh bowed.  
\- I graciously accept. –  
Hannah rolled her eyes.  
It was a happy moment. It wasn’t perfect. But it was. Sam’s abnegation was perfect. Hannah’s shyness was perfect. Josh’s fragility was perfect. Flaws made it perfect. Sam didn’t trust perfect things. And all three of them were far from perfect. They were wrecks. Beautiful wrecks. Wonderfully imperfect. Life wasn’t easy, and was even harder to keep it together. But they weren’t alone.  
Sam smiled.  
Hannah praised Sam’s dress. She said it was the one. Sam agreed. Josh, too.  
\- Okay. I guess it’s time to change. Josh, if you don’t mind… - Hannah moved his hands, in an unequivocal gesture inciting Josh to leave.  
\- No, I don’t. –  
He bit his bottom lip.  
\- Josh! –  
\- Fine, fine, I’ll go. –  
Hannah disappeared behind the black curtain. Sam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She headed back into the fitting room. But Josh grabbed her arm before she could.  
He came closer. She could smell his aftershave. It wasn’t cheap. He didn’t buy it at the supermarket. It made her nostrils twitch. It was good. It smelled like the sea.  
His lips were on the same ear where she tucked her hair a minute ago. They tickled her lobe. He whispered. She shivered.  
\- We need to talk. _Batman_. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmh. Yeah. I'm not very sure about it... And I would also like to apologize for any mistakes I migh have made, english is not my first language. c:

**Author's Note:**

> I'm glad you made until here alive. You're awesome and I love you. :D However, I would like to apologize for any mistakes I might have made. English is not my first language so that’s why the text may seem a little bit jumbled and difficult to follow (aka rubbish). So advice and help are most welcome! Feedback would be nice, too! :3 This should be the prologue/intro to a series of one shots I have in mind. They should be slices of Sam's life before the _anniversary of the disappearances of Hannah and Beth_ , memories, and focus mostly on her relationship with Josh. Let me know if it’s not, you know, _too awful_ and if, you know, wouldn’t mind _that much_ to read more (maybe?). Peace and don't hi-hit me, p-please. I wanted to use it as some kind of joke but, nah, it still hurts too much.


End file.
